Echoes of the Past
What if the love you lost centuries ago was the only thing that could save you now?
In a world where fate pulls the strings of destiny, two souls separated by time are drawn together once more. Chay, a young musician haunted by vi...
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The melody floated through the dimly lit café, soft and sweet, like the gentle ripples of a stream on a quiet afternoon. Chay's fingers glided over the strings of his guitar, his body swaying slightly to the rhythm. The notes came to him naturally, effortlessly, as if he wasn't playing the song but the song was playing him. It was the only time he felt truly free, lost in a world that was his own.
But tonight, something was different.
As his fingers continued to pluck at the strings, his vision began to blur. The café's warm yellow lights twisted and distorted until they became something else entirely—torches, flickering against the stone walls of a grand palace. The air smelled of burning wood, smoke heavy in the distance. And there, in the midst of it all, stood a young man in armor, a sword clutched in his hand, his face smeared with dirt and blood. His eyes, though... his eyes burned with a fire that sent a jolt straight to Chay's heart.
He dropped his pick.
The sound of it clattering onto the wooden floor snapped him back to reality. Blinking rapidly, Chay found himself once again in the café, the audience still staring at him expectantly, unaware of the war-torn images that had just flooded his mind. His heart raced, his breathing unsteady. What was that?
He tried to brush it off as just another strange vision, but this one was more vivid than ever before. Over the past few months, these dreams—no, memories—had been coming more frequently, pulling him into a world that felt both foreign and familiar. He didn't understand them, but deep down, he knew they meant something. Something important.
Taking a shaky breath, he resumed playing, but the image of the warrior lingered at the edges of his mind, haunting him with the weight of an unfinished story.
Kim glanced at his watch, impatiently tapping his finger against the table.
The crowded venue wasn't his usual scene, but he had promised himself to attend tonight's performance. There was something about this particular show, this particular performer, that drew him in. A feeling he couldn't explain. He wasn't one to believe in coincidences, but as of late, strange occurrences had been unfolding, each more disorienting than the last.
His vision had been haunted too—by flashes of a world that didn't belong to him. Or at least, not in this lifetime.
Kim leaned back, arms crossed as he observed the boy on stage. He was younger than Kim had expected, no older than his early twenties, with a fresh-faced innocence that didn't quite match the raw emotion in his music. His fingers moved with the grace of someone much older, someone who had seen the world for all its beauty and pain.
